


6.11 "Memories"

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Series: Warp 5 Complex Virtual Season 6 [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Virtual Season/Series, Warp 5 Complex Virtual Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-16
Updated: 2007-02-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Reed's memory has been affected by the nightmares, and as Phlox struggles to cure him, T'Pol solves the mystery of the nature of the particle cloud.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Beta: Kylie Lee, miera  


* * *

Captain Jonathan Archer looked at the man on the biobed. Malcolm Reed, his tactical officer of six years, had no idea who he was. He was under sedation as Doctor Phlox conducted tests to determine the cause of his amnesia--and, more importantly, a possible reversal of the condition.

Archer recognized that although Reed didn't appear to be physically changed, he seemed somehow different. True, he still wasn't used to Reed's blond-tipped hair, a leftover from his tactical officer's unauthorized covert mission to uncover corruption in Starfleet Intelligence, but that wasn't what was disturbing him. Reed's face had subtly changed. He usually looked confident, his emotions under tight control, the epitome of a career military officer. Just a short time ago, however, he'd been terrified. Vestiges of that fright remained even as he lay unconscious. His brow was creased with worry lines, and even while under sedation, he would twitch occasionally.

Almost the entire crew had been affected by theta wave transmissions from a particle cloud in this vicinity of space. As the crew had fallen asleep, one by one, they'd been drawn into REM sleep and had experienced nightmares. For some unexplained reason, they'd all experienced variations of the same dream--both singly and, unaccountably, in groups. They were being stalked by a nameless, faceless black void that filled them with dread. When the terror of what they were experiencing became too much, the consequences had been dire. Archer's face hardened. They'd lost Ensign Hughes, who had died of cardiac arrest, and had almost lost Ensign Hoshi Sato too. An inhibitor that blocked the theta waves' effects had been formulated by Phlox and administered to the communications officer in the nick of time.

All the crew had recovered--except one, and he manifested a strange symptom: Reed couldn't remember anything before T'Pol had found him and administered the inhibitor. He had complete amnesia.

Archer looked at Phlox, who stood frowning at a monitor nearby. "Can you tell me what caused this?"

Phlox's customary good-natured demeanor was subdued as he looked from his data readouts to the captain. "His memory loss may be a reaction to the nightmares he experienced," he said. "Stress can cause many things, Captain."

"Stress, Doctor? Why would Malcolm be affected like this?" Archer asked. "Of all the crew, I'd say he could handle stress the best."

"Not even Mister Reed is immune to stress, Captain. Apparently, however, he experienced a form of physical stress that the rest of the crew did not. There are bruises and abrasions, especially on his wrists, for which I have no explanation at present," Phlox said, "but I am fairly certain that his amnesia has been caused by some sort of traumatic experience."

Archer felt helpless to deal with this situation. He knew nothing about this particular medical condition. "Could you be more specific?"

The Denobulan, who had once again been looking at the monitor, suddenly straightened. "I believe I may have found something," he said. He pointed at the screen displaying the results of what Archer, even with his limited medical knowledge, knew to be an analysis of Reed's blood cells. "This is an unknown chemical component. I do not know what effect it might have had, and there is not enough left for me to try a detailed analysis. I would say it was injected into his bloodstream at the side of his neck." He bent over Reed. "See? There's an indication of a puncture there. Since there is also bruising and abrasions on his wrists consistent with restraints, I believe that Mister Reed may have been subjected to some form of...torture."

Archer was not only confused but disbelieving. "How can that be possible? That couldn't have happened while he was on this ship. Even if someone was crazy enough to torture him, who could it have been? Practically he whole crew was asleep by that point." He paused, remembering that a sleeping Reed had disappeared unnoticed from sickbay before Phlox had come up with the inhibitor, and they hadn't been able to find him until he turned up in that corridor. According to Sato, who had come across him in her nightmare, Reed had been frozen in terror, his mouth wide open in a soundless scream. "What if he left the ship?" Archer asked.

Phlox frowned. "I suppose it's possible, Captain, although everyone who succumbed to the theta wave dreaming was fast asleep and in reality, immobile. I've been working on the assumption that the lieutenant was in a dream state, like all the others. But if he did leave the ship..." Phlox paused. "It would explain why he is affected differently than the rest of the crew. We need to find out where he disappeared to...conduct a bit of detective work, hmmm?"

Archer nodded in agreement. He welcomed the idea of action. He hated seeing Reed lying unconscious, his vibrancy muted. "T'Pol is examining that cloud. I'm sure that there has to be a connection." He looked over at the sleeping man again, lifted a wrist, examined the contusions. If he had been held prisoner, he had struggled, Archer had no doubt of it. He gently returned Reed's hand to his side. "What about Lieutenant Reed? You'll keep him here in sickbay where you can watch over him, won't you?"

"For a time, at least. But once I'm finished with the tests, it will depend on the lieutenant," Phlox said with a shrug. "He was very distressed the last time Hoshi saw him in her dream, and these surroundings might cause him additional upset..." An expression of distaste flitted across Phlox's face. "...especially if the torture to which he was subjected was conducted in a clinical setting. However, his physical status is good, apart from the remaining toxins in his bloodstream, but they are dissipating. I believe the inhibitor had an unexpected effect in that regard. It appears to be breaking down the toxin as well as blocking the theta waves. If he feels up to it, I would prefer to release him into surroundings he is familiar with."

"Do you think that might help jog his memory?"

"Possibly." Phlox didn't seem to notice Archer's expression of impatience to his noncommittal response. "I will brief Commander T'Pol on the situation. You never know what piece of information might come in handy." Phlox moved over to another work station to begin preparing a report for the Vulcan.

Archer thanked Phlox and left sickbay. He hoped T'Pol had more answers to give him than the doctor had. And he hoped that he would soon have his armory officer back.

* * *

He woke up and blinked. The lights were too bright and the room unfamiliar. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around, finding himself surrounded by strange smells and sounds. A hospital, definitely. But where?

He remembered a woman--a young Asian woman--and another woman, slender with...pointed ears? But nothing else. His mind was frighteningly blank.

"Lieutenant?" came a voice from nearby. "How do you feel?"

He spun around to face the speaker, an alien-looking male with ridges on his face and an unnaturally wide smile. That alone was enough to convince him this was not a normal hospital. "Wh...who are you? What do you want?" he stuttered, his throat raw, aware of how awkward his questions sounded.

"I am Doctor Phlox. I am here to help you." The man spoke in a calm, reassuring voice with a slight accent. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"I..." The man paused, uncertain how to answer.

Phlox held up empty hands in a placating manner. "I want to help you regain your memory. I am not here to hurt you in any way. How do you feel? Are you experiencing nausea? Dizziness? Any pain at all?"

"I feel fine," the man stated truthfully, taken aback by the barrage of questions.

Picking up a small, handheld device, the strange doctor asked, "What do you remember?"

"I remember two women, and a hallway of some sort."

Phlox approached, device in hand. The man instantly shied away, his heartbeat quickening. 

"There is no need to be afraid, Lieutenant Reed. This is a simple medical scanner--see?" The doctor turned the device around, scanned himself, and handed it over to the man to study. "As you can see, I am a healthy Denoulan male. Now--may I scan you?"

After a glance at the device, the man wordlessly handed it back and allowed the physician to proceed, flinching every time the alien made an unexpected movement. At the same time, his thoughts were in a whirl. The doctor had called him "Lieutenant Reed." That meant he had a name, and that he must be in some sort of military organization. Reed. The name had no resonance for him; in fact, he didn't remember anything. Why couldn't he remember?

Finally he spoke, a tinge of desperation in his voice. "Doctor...what's wrong with me? Why don't I remember anything?"

"Let me assure you, Mister Reed, that you are in very good shape. Your amnesia has not been caused by disease or injury. As for the cause of your condition--at this point, I can only speculate. I suggest that you eat something and then get some rest. Try not to worry too much. In the meantime, I'll see what I can do for you." He smiled reassuringly.

Reed nodded. Even though the reply was not satisfactory, the doctor's statement did seem to make sense.

"There is no reason for you to stay in sickbay," the doctor continued. "Would you care to join me for lunch? And after that, you can go to your quarters."

Reed nodded again. "Thank you, doctor." With an embarrassed smile, he added, "I don't remember the last time I had anything to eat."

Phlox smiled. "I am sure we will be able to find something you might like. And while we eat, I can tell you a bit about yourself."

Reed slid off the biobed, wondering whether everything he was about to be told would come as a complete surprise, or whether any of it would be something he already knew. As he searched his mind, finding a total blank for past events, it was with a sickening feeling of emptiness that he realized it probably wouldn't be the latter.

* * *

Commander T'Pol stared at a screen in the command center. The data she had believed had been collected during the past few days was either missing or incomplete. Although she had recovered from the effects the theta waves once she had received the inhibitor, she still found it frustratingly difficult to focus her mind on the task at hand. Vulcans were nothing if not honest with themselves, and she knew the unsatisfactory scans were in part due in part to her lack of focus over the last few days. The captain wanted results as soon as possible, however, which meant she couldn't take time for meditation to center herself. 

So far, results had proved elusive. The cloud was chemical in composition, and the center of it was impermeable at the moment, no matter how finely she calibrated her scanners. For the moment, she was stymied, but she had no doubt that with proper dedication and concentration, she'd have some answers...eventually.

The members of the team she'd assembled were working around the clock. They had yet to find any reason for the particle cloud to be emitting theta waves. Had it not been for the fact that Lieutenant Reed's memory loss might in some way be found to be attributable to the particle cloud, she would have recommended they move away from it at all speed. The inhibitor devised by Doctor Phlox had worked, but it was not prudent to rely on such remedies, no matter how efficacious, for long periods.

Suddenly, the screen showed a minute alteration in the cloud's composition. The Vulcan's fingers flew over the controls, searching for previous occurrences of the phenomenon. When she located what she was looking for, she turned to one of the crewmen. "What were the exact times of Mister Reed's disappearance and reappearance?" she demanded.

T'Pol did not wait for the reply. As the crewman set about his task, she contacted the captain over the comm system. "We have new information about Lieutenant Reed's disappearance. Can you and Commander Tucker join me in the command center?"

* * *

Reed, sipping a cup of black tea, sat with Phlox in the crowded mess hall. The doctor had told him that tea was usually his drink of choice, although Reed found it bitter. The doctor had also informed him that he had been serving with some of these people for more than five years, and he looked at the faces and mannerisms in the desperate hope of recognizing anybody at all. Unfortunately, none of them looked familiar. Most people were avoiding making eye contact with him, leaving him and the doctor in peace. Apparently word of his condition had spread.

"So my name is Malcolm Reed, and I'm a lieutenant in an organization called Starfleet." He sighed. "You could tell me anything and I'd have to believe it, because I simply don't know better."

Phlox smiled. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. And most importantly, try not to worry too much. These things need time. Optimism, Lieutenant! Optimism!"

Reed grimaced. "You know, doctor, somehow I don't think that I'm a very optimistic person." He sipped his tea and sighed again.

Reed knew Phlox was keeping an eye on him. What he didn't realize was that Phlox had noticed that, in spite of his amnesia, he had chosen a particular pasta dish--ravioli--something the doctor had seen him consume on many occasions, to the extent that it could be considered one of his favorite meals. To Reed, on the other hand, it had simply been an arbitrary decision. He had to eat something.

\-- 

Ensign Hoshi Sato stepped into the mess hall and immediately noticed Reed and Phlox at a table in the far corner of the room. Phlox beckoned to her, and, after picking up a salad and orange juice, she made her way over to them.

Reed looked at her, his expression curious. She smiled at him, suppressing a shudder at the memory of their last encounter in the shared nightmares. The terrified expression on his face had been an uncomfortable reminder of her own experience while dreaming under the influence of the particle cloud. She had talked with some of crew about their shared nightmares, and although it had been comforting to find they'd all been scared, for some reason, she seemed to have had the most vivid recollection of the nightmare, the feeling of being hunted, the overwhelming sense of futility-- 

She felt tendrils of panic invade her mind and made an effort to mentally cast them off. That didn't mean her version of the nightmare had been worse. Maybe it was just because it was her personal experience and she had no tangible way of comparing another person's nightmare to the way hers had made her feel, despite the similarities.

She gazed at the two men at the table. Reed, she noticed, was unusually pale and looked tired, but he appeared to be doing better. "Doctor, Lieutenant," she greeted them as she sat down.

"Lieutenant Reed, this is Ensign Hoshi Sato. She is our communications officer."

"Ensign Sato. Nice to meet you." Reed's voice was softer than usual, and more hesitant. He looked at her intently. Did he recognize her? Sato couldn't tell. She had seen him briefly in sickbay after T'Pol had found him the corridor, and she had squeezed his hand and smiled comfortingly. He probably didn't remember.

"Yes. I'm glad to see that you're feeling better," Sato said, attempting to make conversation as Reed's eyes lost focus. He frowned suddenly, and she feared that he would scream again like he had in the corridor, or faint, because his face had lost its remaining color. Alarmed, she touched his arm. "Lieutenant? Are you all right?"

He blinked rapidly, smiled, and nodded, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Ensign. I...I'm very tired."

* * *

He sipped from his cup again, lost in his thoughts. The woman's face--the smooth, almost childlike features--flooded his mind. He saw her in a space suit, on an alien ship, screaming...speaking in strange languages. _Sato, Hoshi, Ensign. Communications Officer. Recruited by Starfleet because of her unique talent for linguistics and the acquisition of alien languages._ He could see the words typed on a piece of paper, along with the names of schools, degrees, skills, but stronger than the memory of the page was the memory of his emotion at seeing the page: horror, anger. More images flashed in front of his eyes at a dizzying speed: a formal portrait of Sato in uniform; an image of a blond man in a loud Hawaiian shirt. He didn't know what all this meant, but he was certain that he knew this woman.

The doctor's voice brought him back to reality. "You need some rest, Lieutenant. Ensign Sato will show you to your quarters. I have to go back to sickbay. Contact me any time if you need me," Phlox said with a smile as he got to his feet.

There was an awkward silence between the two officers after the Denobulan's departure. Reed sipped his cold tea while Sato picked at her salad. Reed passed the time by surreptitiously watching her, looking away whenever she glanced in his direction. He was sure he knew her, but he couldn't remember. It was something of a relief when she was finally finished with her food and they left the mess hall. Now at least he had something with which to distract himself, even if it also was disquieting. The doctor had told him that he knew everyone on board this ship, but each person they passed was someone whom, from his perspective, he was seeing for the first time.

Wanting to put off yet more fruitless searching in his mind for lost memories, he asked Sato to show him around the ship. He was still rather amazed he was on a spaceship. At first, when the doctor had told him that, he hadn't believed it. One look out a window had gone a long way toward convincing him otherwise.

Now, as he walked along with Sato, each deck, each corridor, although remarkably similar, had yet to spark any recognition in him. She even had to show him how to operate a turbolift, something she said he'd done thousands of times. They were both surprised, then, when upon arriving at his quarters, he immediately typed in his personal locking code. The door slid open as he stared uncomprehendingly at the access panel he'd just used. Sato's startled exclamation broke his trance.

"How'd you do that?" she asked.

Looking at the fingers on his hand as if they didn't belong to him, he answered, "I have no idea. I just put my hand up...and pushed buttons."

"That's got to be a good sign," she said, her voice hopeful. "Make sure you let Phlox know." 

"Right," he said absently, stepping inside. He looked around carefully, feeling like he was a stranger in what was supposed to be his own home. He was oddly hesitant to touch or move anything. Sato left him then, as if sensing the awkwardness he was feeling. 

He cautiously paced around the cabin, stopping when something caught his eye. He must be a compulsively tidy person, he thought with a wry smile, as there was no clutter to be found. The items that were here seemed to be in their appropriate places--books on a shelf, two PADDs on the desk, toothbrush and toothpaste lined up neatly on the sink. Or maybe, he thought, the cabin was neat because there wasn't much to mess it up with. There was a definite lack of personal items. That struck him as sad, not only because it meant there was less here to prod his memory than he'd hoped, but that he apparently was a person who didn't need much, and by extension, led a somewhat solitary life.

He returned to the small collection of antique books he'd noticed earlier. Picking one at random, he sat on the neatly made bed. He flicked through the pages of the book for several minutes, but he didn't remember ever having read a word of it.

Tossing the book aside, his gaze came to rest on the lockers. Perhaps the clothing and other items inside could tell him something. He got to his feet and opened the door of the closest one. It was empty except for two boxes stacked in the bottom. Leaning closer for a better look, he saw the top one was neatly closed and sealed, the affixed label addressed to Stuart Reed in neat, angular printing. Who was Stuart Reed? Likely a relative. Curious though he was, he decided against opening the boxes at the moment.

Moving to the next locker, he had found several of the blue uniforms like those the crew wore. These had red lines running around each shoulder and two silver pips neatly fixed in place. Apart from that, there was some civilian clothing, mainly in dark colors and of rather plain design, as well as workout clothes and grappling gloves used in sparring. He pulled them on, his gaze veering away when he saw the red abrasions circling his wrists.

"Hayes," he said out loud as his mind was suddenly flooded with images of a particularly nasty brawl so vivid that he could almost feel the pain of a blow to his head. Assuming a fighting stance, he punched the air half-heartedly, then dropped his hands to his sides. He hadn't been wearing the gloves during that fight but during some sort of training that involved hand-to-hand combat. Then the images receded, going back into hiding. All he could remember was that he'd apparently been in a vicious fight. With someone named...Hayes? He should find Hayes on the ship, talk to him. Maybe it would jog his memory. Although apparently they didn't get along.

He shook his head, stripped off the gloves, and returned them to the locker.

The mirror attracted him next. He looked at the face that stared back at him. Gray eyes, pale skin, and dark hair with strange blond tips, a style of hair that was clearly at odds with his general appearance. He knew what Malcolm Reed was supposed to look like, even if the name meant nothing to him, because Phlox had shown him a picture from what he'd been told was his own personnel file. No mention had been made of the contrasting hair color scheme, as if it hadn't been important.

Staring at the two-tone hair, he suddenly knew that it was wrong. He laughed mirthlessly. Hair with a history, he thought as he touched the blond tips.

"Who are you?" he asked his reflection. "Who am I?"

Suddenly enraged, upset because the blond coloring was wrong and he didn't know why, he searched through the drawers like a man possessed until he found a razor. He shaved off the blond and brown hair, leaving only five millimeters of uniformly dark hair.

He stared in the mirror again. The transformation was astonishing. His entire face looked different--less familiar than before, if that was possible. He smirked, pulled his right arm back with his hand fisted, and punched straight into his reflection. The sound of glass shattering was strangely satisfying.

A moment later, he regretted his rash action. He'd cut his knuckles, a slow trickle of blood oozing down one of the fingers. As he sucked on the stinging cut, he wondered if perhaps it wouldn't have been better just to look away from his reflection.

* * *

Commander Trip Tucker had abandoned his half-eaten lunch when he'd received the summons to the command center. He arrived at the same time as the captain, and as they stepped through the doorway, his stomach growled. At Archer's curious glance, Tucker shrugged apologetically. He just hoped this wasn't going to be a long session. In his experience, long, scientific explanations sat uneasily on an empty stomach.

T'Pol's first words make him forget all about being hungry.

"Mister Reed's disappearance coincides with the first known fluctuation in the cloud's composition," T'Pol reported. "His reappearance coincides with the second fluctuation. We need to determine the origin of the fluctuations. Then perhaps we will discover what caused them."

Both Tucker and Archer nodded in understanding. The engineer asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"I was hoping to draw on your expertise. If we can determine the nature of these fluctuations, we may be able to determine their purpose."

"Come on, T'Pol. I know you well enough to know that you already have some sort of a theory."

T'Pol paused to take a deep breath. Both Tucker and Archer knew she disliked proposing hypothesis for which she had no solid proof. "I believe that the fluctuations are a transporter signal. Mister Reed may have been transported to the core of the cloud."

"A transporter signal?" Archer repeated, his gaze going to one of the screens where a view of the particle cloud could be seen. "That would mean there's definitely something inside the cloud, possibly with a contained atmosphere capable of supporting human life."

"That is what we need to find out. I believe that, if we manage to calibrate our long-range scanners to filter out the interference generated by the cloud, we will be closer to discovering what lies at the center," T'Pol explained. "And I need Mister Tucker and his staff to adjust the scanners."

A nod from Archer was all it took to get Tucker moving on the request.

* * *

Several hours later, Tucker comm'd T'Pol in the command center to let her know that the scanners had been as finely tuned and adjusted as humanly possible. There was a long pause on her part, and he imagined one of her eyebrows shooting up at his choice of words before she said evenly, "Acknowledged," and signed off.

He glanced around engineering. His staff had done an excellent job recalibrating the scanners, and in record time too. They were now back at their usual duties. But satisfaction in their performance didn't do anything to quell his now loudly protesting stomach. He hadn't had a chance to finish his lunch, and he wasn't going to miss dinner if he could help it. With a wave of his hand to his second in command, he left engineering and strolled down the corridor toward the mess hall. Maybe he'd be lucky and manage to eat an entire meal without interruption this time. If he was really lucky, Chef would have prepared something really good, like pan-fried catfish, or maybe--

Trip came to a halt as a figure farther down the corridor came into view. It was Reed, wearing civilian clothing, walking hesitantly toward him. What was he doing wandering around on his own if he had amnesia? But as Reed drew closer, the almost panicked look on his face spurred Trip to rush toward him.

"Malcolm?" he called out. "You all right?"

For a moment, Tucker thought Reed was going turn to look behind to see who he was talking to. Then he must have realized it was him, and Reed looked back toward him.

"Um," Reed said, glancing around nervously as Tucker came to stand in front of him. "I'm...fine."

Tucker studied his friend's face carefully--once he got over Reed's new hairstyle, that is. The blond tips were no longer in evidence, and his hair was a uniformly short cut all over--much shorter than he used to wear it. But it only took a second or two to register the change in Reed's hair. What alarmed Tucker was that there were beads of sweat on the man's forehead, and his eyes were darting to and fro as if he expected something to jump out at him.

"You don't look fine to me," he said, reaching out to take Reed's arm.

Reed's head jerked up, and, yanking his arm from Tucker's grasp, he assumed a fighting stance.

"Whoa!" Tucker said, holding his hands up. "I'm just tryin' to help you."

Reed stared intently into Tucker's eyes for a moment. He swallowed and nodded, his stance slowly relaxing, fists unclenching. He'd cut his hand, Tucker noticed as he exhaled shakily. That's all he needed--getting beat up by his friend who didn't remember anything. "Aw, geez," Tucker said as he slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "How could I be so stupid? You don't know who I am, do you?"

Reed shook his head. The tactical officer seemed to have calmed down somewhat. Maybe it was just being in the presence of another person that was helping. Reed had looked awfully haunted when Tucker had first seen him down the corridor, although of all the crew on board, Malcolm apparently had the most reason to be so. Archer had told him that, in addition to losing his memory, it was likely that Reed had also been tortured. He probably shouldn't be roaming the ship unescorted in his current condition, though, if he was this jumpy.

"I'm Trip Tucker, chief engineer, one of your best friends," Tucker said. "You and I got a long history." Reed looked at him askance, and he plowed on, gesturing toward the mess hall doors a little farther down the corridor. "Tell you what. Why don't you come with me and we'll both get something to eat?"

Reed stared at the doorway and, after a moment, shook his head. "If it's all right with you, I'd rather not."

Just then, a couple of crewmen exited the mess hall and headed in their direction. Tucker noticed Reed's face tighten as the pair approached. Both nodded a greeting when they passed, and Tucker reciprocated. But Reed, he saw, carefully avoided looking at their faces. This wasn't good. How was Reed going to remember anything or anybody if he didn't want to look around?

Tucker tried a different tack. "Well, you got to eat to get better. Phlox says that's one of the most important things. You can wait here, I'll go get us something to eat, and we can go to my quarters, or yours, if that's what you want, and eat there."

Reed's lips curved in the barest semblance of a smile. "All right. That sounds good. Thanks."

"No problem," Tucker replied. "Stay right here."

Tucker hurried into the mess hall, grabbed two plates of pasta and some utensils, and wondered how he was going to carry two glasses as well. To hell with it, he decided. He better get back out there and make sure Reed hadn't bolted. They could either drink water from the sink in his quarters or open a couple bottles of beer he knew Reed has stashed in his cabin.

He half-expected Reed to be gone when he stepped out of the mess hall, but Reed was standing right where he'd left him. He appeared wary, but not frightened. He handed one of the plates to Reed.

"Ravioli? Again?" the other man asked peevishly as he looked at the food on the plate.

It sounded so much like the old Reed that Tucker's head flew back and he laughed.

* * *

T'Pol had dismissed the rest of the team helping her. They'd run several complete scans of the particle cloud with the recalibrated equipment, and now it was just a matter of sifting through the results. She could better accomplish that by herself without the distraction of other, less disciplined assistants around. Besides, she'd overheard two of them talking about needing a break to eat. Humans tended to become less efficient, if not cranky, when they were hungry. She, however, could fast for several days if need be, without detriment. She'd missed two meals already today without any ill effects.

She regretted the necessity of staying near the particle cloud, because Starfleet had ordered them to Denobula. Although speed was not of the essence, Doctor Phlox had indicated a desire to return to his home planet to wrap up a few loose ends. His return to _Enterprise_ had been unexpected, and he hadn't been able to close out all his affairs there. The Denobulans were former allies of Earth's, but that alliance had been broken off by the Denobulans after the attack at Alpha Centauri. Starfleet hoped that Denobula could be convinced to form a new alliance, and although they had asked Archer to negotiate a formal agreement, they were willing to settle for an informal one.

Still, all that would have to wait. With the possibility of unlocking some of the secrets of the particle cloud to interest her, she found it easier to concentrate. Having a goal could encourage motivation, she knew. Her approach to this puzzle resembled nothing so much as peeling away the layers of an Earth vegetable called an onion. She was slowly being able to see farther into the cloud as various resolutions of the scans were analyzed. She hadn't discovered anything yet, be it a transporter mechanism or something that could produce theta waves. But it was only a matter of time before she'd peeled away all the layers, metaphorically speaking, and revealed the center. In the meantime, she'd asked Sato to scan transmission frequencies from her station on the bridge for any activity, as well as for indications of energy usage. 

Although she had no solid basis for her theory that a transporter had been used to remove Reed from the ship and then return him, it was plausible. The theory was strengthened after the captain had ordered the security staff to comb the ship looking for any indication that Reed's injuries had been inflicted here. None had been found. She hadn't thought they would.

She would be gratified as well as reassured to find that something with intelligence had deliberately caused what had happened to the crew and, in particular, Mr. Reed. She didn't like to dwell on the possibility that all the crew succumbing to potentially life-threatening nightmares had been a natural occurrence. But if they found an intelligence was behind it, they could proceed to logically formulate a plan to deal with it. 

Logic, she knew, did not have much value when dealing with the irrationality that was the human subconscious.

* * *

Reed sat at the desk in his quarters, picking at his food. Tucker, plate in one hand and fork in the other, ate while seated on the bunk. Although Reed appreciated the other man's attempts to make conversation, it was hard to hold up his end when he didn't know what the other man was talking about. None of the names meant anything to him, and he was certain some of the stories Tucker was telling had to have been made up. That one about Risa was obviously a complete fabrication. He may not remember who he was and what he'd done, but he was sure he'd never be caught in an embarrassing situation like that. Shape-shifting muggers, indeed. Who would ever believe that? It was almost as outlandish as Tucker's assertion that he recently had taken care of a young Klingon child until they been able to find the boy's family. He wasn't even sure what a Klingon was, despite Tucker's detailed description.

Still, he appreciated the effort Tucker was making. It seemed like something a friend would do, and Tucker had said he was his friend. He'd have to take his word for it. For some reason, unquestioningly accepting what people told him were facts, especially where his life was concerned, bothered him. He put down his fork next to the plate. His appetite was long gone.

"What's wrong?" Tucker asked, abruptly stopping midstory.

"I'm not hungry," he replied. Rubbing his temples, he added, "All this trying to remember is giving me a headache."

Tucker set aside his plate. "Looks like you did something to your hand, too," he said, pointing to the bandage covering Reed's knuckles on his right hand. "You did a bad job fixing it up yourself. Want me to call Doctor Phlox?"

"No!" Reed said, not relishing the idea of being in the alien's presence if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Thank goodness he'd cleaned up the mess from when he put his fist in the mirror. If they knew he'd done something like that, they might think he was crazy on top of having amnesia. "It's just a small cut. I'm fine."

Tucker got to his feet. "Maybe I ought to let you get some rest."

Tucker's offer to leave made Reed pause. As much as he didn't want to be around the doctor, being alone would be even worse. "No," Reed said, gesturing for Tucker to retake his seat. "Just because I don't have an appetite doesn't mean you should forgo your supper."

Tucker sat down and picked up his plate. As he stabbed a piece of ravioli, keeping his eyes on his plate, Tucker asked casually, "So, what was that all about outside the mess hall?"

"What was what?"

Tucker looked up. "You not looking at those two crewmen when they walked by. And right before that, when I first ran into you, you looked like..."

Reed shifted uncomfortably on the chair. "It was nothing."

"Yeah, right," Tucker said, obviously not believing him. "You looked like you thought something was going to jump right out of the bulkhead and grab you." Reed flinched, and Tucker immediately said, "Damn it! I'm sorry, Malcolm. That was the last thing I should have said, considering..."

Reed lifted his gaze to meet Tucker's, and he knew he couldn't lie as he met the concerned blue eyes staring back at him. This man had said he was his friend. If he couldn't tell a friend what was bothering him, he couldn't tell anyone. "Actually, I did think something was going to jump right of the bulkhead and grab me."

Tucker stared steadily at him. "Tell me what happened."

Reed swallowed and wet his lips. "I was on my way to the mess hall. I was hungry then." Glancing at his unfinished meal, he added with a weak smile, he added, "Although maybe not for ravioli again." He could see his poor attempt at humor hadn't worked. Tucker was still staring intently on him. At least Tucker didn't look wrong, like his reflection in the mirror or those two crewmen outside the mess hall. He took a deep breath and continued. "When I got out of the turbolift before you came around the curve in the corridor, there didn't seem to be anyone around. But there was something there. I could see it from the corner of my eye."

"What was it?"

Reed shook his head. "As soon as I turned to look, it was gone. But I got the impression of something black, formless..." His voice died away as he was suddenly assaulted by images he couldn't explain: a black void coming toward him; a sudden, glaringly bright light; glittering metallic tools. He was powerless to run away. He couldn't move. Something terrible was going to happen...had happened--

"Malcolm!"

He snapped back to reality to find Tucker shaking him. Breathing harshly, he said, "I remembered something."

"What? What did you remember?"

"A hand."

"You remembered a hand?" Tucker asked incredulously.

Reed nodded vigorously, wanting Tucker to believe him. "Yes, a hand. But not a human hand like yours or mine. It had only four fingers and..." He paused, focusing inward as the image coalesced in his mind. "It was holding something like a...a...needle."

Tucker's hands dropped from his arms. "The doctor said you'd been tortured, including the use of some sort of toxin injected in your--"

"--neck," Reed finished, raising one hand to the site of the injection. His nostrils flared. "Those bastards drugged me with something!"

* * *

As the door to sickbay closed behind Archer, the first thing he saw was Reed lying on a biobed. Phlox was nearby, puttering around one of the work stations, while Tucker stood off to one side, arms crossed, looking grim.

"Ah! Captain," Phlox said brightly in greeting. "I've just given Mister Reed a thorough examination."

"You said you had something to report?" Archer asked, addressing both Phlox and Tucker.

"Mister Reed is starting to recover pieces of his memory," Phlox said with a smile.

Tucker, more somber, put in, "It's not good, though."

Archer stepped close to the biobed and looked down at his tactical officer. "Malcolm? Are you feeling better?"

"Um. Yes. Sir. Um. I've remembered something that might be important, given what Trip...ah, Commander Tucker has told me," Reed said, clearly choosing his words carefully.

Archer realized that Reed was trying to use military protocol appropriate for speaking to a superior officer. He wasn't quite pulling it off. More apparent was that Reed was not aware that they were all well acquainted with each other. The comfortable familiarity and underlying respect on which it was built were missing. Reed's awkward demeanor gave Archer the impression he was making the other man uncomfortable. He took a small step backward, away from the biobed, so he wouldn't appear to be towering over Reed. Immediately the other man relaxed marginally and levered himself up to a sitting position.

"Carefully, Mister Reed," Phlox called out. At Archer's curious glance, he said, "Mister Reed's brain is undergoing some stress as bits and pieces of his memory resurface. It's entirely possible he could lose his balance and fall down if he is standing when another memory fragment falls into place."

Archer turned back to Reed and, with his expression, encouraged him to speak.

"I still don't know for sure that I'm Malcolm Reed," Reed began. "I mean, you all say I am, so I must be, and the ship's records confirm that." Archer traded a glance with Tucker. He knew that Reed had been accessing computer records from his quarters; he'd assigned someone to track that information, just as he'd disabled all of Reed's security protocols and changed all the passwords--a simple precaution. Reed might not know he was Reed, but delving into the ship's files to find answers was something Reed would do. Archer had thought he could find insight into Reed's mind if he could see what Reed was researching.

"What I do know is that I was tortured," Reed said baldly.

"We know that, Malcolm," Archer said gently. He had hoped that Phlox or Reed would have some new information for him.

"I remember being tied down and injected with something," Reed said. "And I remember escaping. I got out of restraints." As if unaware of his action, one hand caressed his other wrist.

Archer's eyes widened. "Then there definitely is something inside that particle cloud."

"Yes, sir," Reed responded more confidently. "I don't know if it's a ship or a stationary facility, but it was real. I'm positive it's something I'm remembering. And--"

The conversation was interrupted by the opening of the sickbay doors. T'Pol entered, trailed by an apprehensive-looking Sato. The Vulcan first officer came to stand by Archer. "There is a development," she said.

"Have you found what's at the center of the cloud?" Archer asked.

"No," T'Pol said bluntly. "However, Ensign Sato has something to report."

Archer shifted his gaze to Sato, who looked embarrassed to be the focus of everyone's attention. "Maybe it's nothing," she prevaricated, shifting her weight. "Maybe I was imagining it."

"It is not nothing, and I seriously doubt you were imagining it," T'Pol said. "However, if Doctor Phlox could check to make sure that the inhibitor is still working..."

Archer found his curiosity piqued, yet didn't say anything. He watched as Phlox held a med scanner close to Sato and took some readings. The doctor tilted his head to one side as he gazed at the readout. "The inhibitor seems to be working," he said, his tone indicating he, too, was curious to find out what this was about.

T'Pol turned to Archer. "Ensign Sato has picked up a transmission from the cloud." Before he could react, she added dryly, "No one else can hear it."

"Hoshi?" Archer said.

Sato crossed her arms. "I was running through standard transmission frequencies to see if I could pick up anything from the cloud. I was monitoring some of the lower frequencies when I heard a voice. I didn't understand the words. It's a language I've never heard before, but whatever it was saying made me...uncomfortable." She hesitated as a shiver ran through her. "When I played it back on the speakers on the bridge, nobody heard anything but static. T'Pol didn't hear anything, Travis didn't hear anything, none of the other crew members heard anything. But I could hear it."

T'Pol added, "The time of the transmission coincides with a new fluctuation of the cloud. If it indeed the fluctuation is a sign of a transporter signal, and because all of the crew are accounted for, someone may have transported aboard." 

Before Archer could open his mouth to reply, Reed suddenly leaped off the biobed and spun in a circle, his arms held up defensively, as if to ward something off. He was clearly looking for something.

"Malcolm?" Archer asked in concern.

Reed lowered his arms, a wary expression on his face. "I thought I saw something."

"The same thing happened outside the mess hall earlier," Tucker said quietly to Archer. "He thought someone was there."

"I hear that voice again!" Sato exclaimed, doing an almost perfect imitation of Reed's pirouette a few seconds earlier.

"I don't hear anything," Tucker said, just as Archer commanded Reed, "Tell me what you saw."

Reed, still in a half-crouch, straightened up. "Like a...like a blackness out of the corner of my eye, just outside my peripheral vision. If I try to look straight at it, it disappears."

"That's what I saw in my dreams--what all of us saw in our dreams," Sato said unbelievingly. "But Malcolm's awake."

Reed may have lost the greater part of his memory, but Archer was willing to bet his instincts and powers of observation were intact. Coupled with Sato's previous experience when she'd been contacted telepathically by an alien, he wasn't about to take any chances. He stepped over to the comm panel. Thumbing the button, he said, "Security! This is the captain. Start a deck-by-deck search. We may have intruders on board." As soon as a brisk acknowledgment of the order was returned, Archer cut the connection and turned to face his officers. His mind raced as he took in their expectant faces. How could you fight something when only one of your crew could see it--sort of--and one other could hear it?

"I take it you haven't finished your analysis of the particle cloud?" he asked T'Pol.

"No. It seemed prudent to inform you of Ensign Sato's discovery as soon as possible."

Archer had to agree with her, but he couldn't help but feel the situation was escalating out of their control. They needed to act before something worse than nightmares and a case of memory loss happened. A few years ago, he wouldn't have been so rash to jump to the worst possible conclusion. His days of simple wonder at the universe's varied mysteries were past, however, buried under a load of bad experiences. There were times when he couldn't allow himself the luxury of waiting to see how a situation would develop. This was one of them.

Taking a breath, he began issuing orders. "T'Pol, get back to the analysis. Find out what's in the middle of that cloud. Trip, I want a close watch on all vital systems on the ship. Phlox, get readings from as many of the crew as you can. Make sure the inhibitor is still working. As for you two..." His gaze rested on Reed and Sato, standing next to each other. "We're going hunting."

* * *

Reed thought that, if he was crazy, so were at least two other people on this ship. He, Archer, and Sato wandered through the corridors, following a path apparently known only to Archer, seeking aliens that no one but he could see and no one but Sato could hear. 

Much as Reed hated to admit it, he'd rather be back in sickbay right now. More bits and pieces of his memory were returning. To say it was distracting was an understatement. One moment he'd be following Archer, the next he'd remember something, seeing visions of past events in his mind's eye--like a memory of Tucker wearing a hideous shirt, followed by the memory that Tucker had a penchant for garish shirts; or the sudden memory that his favorite fruit was pineapple. He'd just adjust to the new pieces of information, struggling to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing, when another meddlesome fragment of memory would crop up, and--bloody hell!--it was true! He _had_ been tied up in a basement on Risa with Tucker. Following quickly on the heels of that revelation was another--it wasn't a dislike of Phlox that made him uncomfortable around the alien doctor, but that he detested being cooped up in sickbay.

Sato, at least, seemed to be handling the situation well. Some of his returning memories had to do with her. Maybe that's because, according to what he'd been told, she'd found him shortly after he'd returned to the ship from wherever he'd been taken to be tortured. She'd been in an REM dream state at the time, so he didn't give it too much significance, but he couldn't deny that he had remembered more about her than anyone else at the moment. She used to be terribly uncertain of herself, he realized, even to the extent of questioning her assignment in space, but he'd seen her grow in confidence with each new challenge she'd faced. He wondered if he'd experienced similar growth while serving aboard _Enterprise._

"Anything?" Archer asked.

"No, sir," Reed said, and glanced at Sato, who shook her head. Just as he couldn't summon the black nothingness to appear no matter how hard he wished it, Sato apparently couldn't will the voices to speak, either.

Gesturing with the phase pistol he was holding, Archer motioned that they'd turn right at the next intersection of corridors.

* * *

There were very few layers of the particle cloud left to peel away. T'Pol was hunched over the scanner at her science station on the bridge. She had moved from the command center in case prompt action was necessary when whatever was inside the cloud was revealed. With the captain off trying to track down possible intruders, it would be up to her to initiate the first response to any perceived threat. 

"Commander!" said Ensign Travis Mayweather from the helm. "Something's happening to the cloud."

T'Pol turned to find Mayweather looking at the screen. Following his gaze, she saw that the cloud was undulating. Although they'd observed a certain amount of movement along the edge of it before, it had never been this pronounced. "I see it, Ensign," she said.

She quickly turned back to her scanner and adjusted some of the settings. Reaching for the comm system interface on her panel, she said, "T'Pol to Captain Archer. We are reading a new fluctuation from the particle cloud, as well as physical movement."

"Understood," came the reply.

T'Pol straightened and turned to look at the viewscreen again. She still hadn't been able to identify some of the chemicals making up the cloud. When she'd turned her attention to investigation of the fluctuations, no further study of the cloud's chemical composition had been done--an oversight on her part, perhaps, caused by her lack of focus. She didn't have time right now to pick up where she'd left off, but there was someone else on board who might be able to help, someone with an extensive background in organic and inorganic chemistry.

She glanced at her console. The last, inner layers of the cloud were still being probed. She opened a channel to sickbay and contacted Phlox.

* * *

Reed felt a strange sensation on the back of his neck. What little hair he'd left there after his overly enthusiastic shaving was standing up. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, however, so he didn't say anything as he followed Archer at a slow but steady pace down yet another corridor.

Next to him, Sato faltered in midstep. "I think I'm hearing it again," she said softly.

The captain heard her whispered comment and stopped. "Hoshi?" he asked over his shoulder.

Tilting her head to one side, she listened. "Definitely hearing it," she said more confidently. "I still don't recognize the language. Sounds like a series of clicks and glottal stops. Sort of like the Xindi insectoids, but much slower."

Reed peered toward the end of the corridor, sure that he'd seen something as Sato spoke. There had been movement, but without substance. He unexpectedly recalled Mayweather telling a ghost story around a campfire, and shook his head to clear it. Now was not the time to have some resurfacing memories distract him.

"I think I saw something down the corridor, sir," he said to Archer.

The group moved off, Archer in the lead. Reed wanted to take point. He was the one who could see what they were hunting, and that meant he should be in front. But the captain hadn't offered to give him a pistol. He didn't think asking for a weapon would go over well with most of his memory still absent. In all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure he could remember how to handle a phase pistol, but he'd remembered his door code as soon as he was faced with the machinery. If he could just hold one of the pistols, perhaps it would come back to him the same way--automatically, with sense memory taking over. 

They arrived at the end of the corridor where two more hallways branched off, one to the right and one to the left, and he resigned himself to following Archer for the time being. 

"Which way?" Archer asked.

Reed jerked as a blur of black zipped past his vision. He pointed to the corridor on his right.

"I'm hearing the voice from that direction," Sato confirmed. "It's louder now, insistent, almost like it's calling to us."

Archer started off in that direction, Reed and Sato close behind him. They were almost even with another intersecting corridor when the sound of footsteps came from one of the adjacent hallways. Archer looked at Reed, who looked at Sato, who said, as acerbically as possible while keeping her voice down, "Don't look at me! I'm not the only one hearing that!"

Archer motioned them back and took up a stance, the pistol held out in front of him, to confront whatever was coming down the hall. Chances were it was probably just a crewman, but Reed didn't blame the captain in the least. Perhaps the formless thing they were chasing had finally taken a shape. 

As it turned out, it was a crewman. Once the man recovered from the shock of turning a corner to find his captain holding a phase pistol on him, he scurried on his way, but not before Archer had ordered him to have anyone else around evacuate the area.

Before they could decide in which direction to continue, another patch of black raced past the edge of Reed's vision. "This way, sir," he said, turning to his right yet again.

As they headed off down the corridor, Reed realized the surroundings were familiar. If he was correct, the airlock should be a little farther along this way. Yes, he could see the control panel on a bulkhead ahead of them. But that wasn't all he saw. He caught a glimpse of their quarry, wavering in the middle of the corridor. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared, passing through the heavy door into the airlock. The movement struck Reed as being very deliberate. A recollection of standing next to Archer as the captain threatened to blow an alien out the airlock popped into his mind.

Next to him, Sato put a hand to her forehead and grimaced. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it was yelling."

"Sir!" Reed said, putting out his hand to stop Archer's progress toward the airlock. "It's a trap."

* * *

When Mayweather called her name, T'Pol could hear an undercurrent of tension in his voice. Lifting her gaze from her science console to the viewscreen, she could understand why Mayweather sounded distressed. The cloud was no longer undulating in place; it was moving toward them at a good clip.

She walked quickly over to sit in the command chair and ordered, "Move us back, one-quarter impulse."

Mayweather input commands at the helm and the ship started moving in reverse. The helmsman was keeping the ship at a steady distance from the cloud, but not for long. The cloud started to grow larger on the screen.

"It's gaining on us," he said, his fingers twitching over his controls.

"Increase speed to half-impulse," she ordered, just as a voice came through the bridge's communications system: "Phlox to T'Pol!"

T'Pol pushed a button on the chair's comm panel. "Go ahead."

"It's still gaining," Mayweather interrupted from the helm.

"Three-quarter impulse," she instructed him, then directed her voice to the comm panel on the chair. "Yes, Doctor?"

"In studying the data on the particle cloud you asked me to review, I've come across something very interesting."

"We are rather busy at the moment, Doctor. Please get to the point."

"Yes, well. One of the unknown chemicals in the cloud is the same toxin that was in Lieutenant Reed's bloodstream."

Mayweather's voice cut across the bridge once more. "It's picked up speed again."

"Go to warp 1, any heading," T'Pol ordered. "Doctor, what effect would physical contact with the particle cloud have on _Enterprise_?"

"I really don't know," Phlox responded. "But if it could gain entry to the ship, who knows what it could do to the crew? I'm still not sure what it did to Mister Reed, other than being a contributing factor in his torture. An actual sample would greatly aid in determining--"

"Perhaps later, Doctor," T'Pol said. "In the meantime, prepare several liters of the inhibitor. Commander Tucker will be along shortly to collect it."

* * *

"Believe me, sir," Reed pleaded. "We shouldn't go in there."

Archer stared at the closed airlock door. Next to him, Sato winced and took a step back. "It's really loud now, sir."

"Maybe it wants to communicate," Archer said thoughtfully.

"In the airlock, sir?" Reed asked incredulously. "Remember, something was responsible for my memory loss and torture, not to mention the nightmares the entire crew experienced. Most likely it was whatever that thing is--" He staggered as if struck by a blow.

"Malcolm?" Archer asked urgently. "What's wrong?"

"A memory, sir," he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. "A bad one." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes just in time. Reed whirled toward the airlock door as a slender tentacle of black slithered into view. For once, he saw it clearly. Then it abruptly withdrew through the airlock door again--like a beckoning finger, he thought, luring them to open the door. He turned to Archer. "Don't go in there. We've got to get away from it. Now. Or they're going to kill us. Or worse."

The captain stared back at him. The man looked swayed by the conviction in Reed's voice, but Reed suddenly knew from experience that his conviction might not be enough.

Then Archer was paged over the comm system, and Reed breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption. The captain back-pedaled toward nearby a comm panel. Reed and Sato listened as T'Pol's voice came over the comm, telling the captain the particle cloud was moving toward the ship, as well as her plan for dealing with it.

"It is my belief this is an attack on the ship," she finished. "Have you found any intruders?"

Archer, whose gaze had never left the airlock, said, "We think so. Mister Reed keeps seeing that thing from the nightmares everyone experienced."

"I would recommend no contact with it," T'Pol told him. "It's my belief that it is also capable of serving as transporter node."

"So what would you have us do?" Archer asked in frustration. "Just walk away from it?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, captain."

* * *

With the ship threatened and T'Pol's recommendation to keep their distance from whatever it was in the airlock, Archer headed for the bridge. First, however, he ordered Reed and Sato to sickbay. They could help Phlox and Tucker, if only to warn them of the intruder if it showed up there.

Tucker was watching Phlox fill several containers with the inhibitor when Reed and Sato hurried into sickbay.

"Commander T'Pol believes this will have an effect on the cloud," Phlox said, closing the last of the containers. "However, it is up to you to find a method to deliver it."

"That's why I'm here, Doc," Tucker said, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet. "We're going to replace the payload of a couple of torpedoes with this stuff." Casting a rueful glance at Reed, he added, "Too bad you don't remember how to do that."

With a smirk, Reed gathered up two of the containers, and headed for the doors. "I wouldn't count on it, Mister Tucker," he said over his shoulder.

Tucker grabbed two more containers, and Sato picked up the last one. They followed Reed out of sickbay.

* * *

The main screen on the bridge showed a wide view of the particle cloud. Archer, momentarily startled by the sight, paused as he stepped out of the turbolift before stepping down to the command well. "Any change?" he asked T'Pol as he sat in the command chair she had just vacated.

"We are maintaining our distance at the moment, but for how long, I do not know," she said. "For every increase in speed we make, it soon moves at a slightly faster pace." A look of displeasure passed across her face. "It's almost as if it is toying with us."

"Or seeing what we're capable of," Archer said. "What's our speed now?"

"Warp 2.2," Mayweather responded from the helm.

Standing next to his command chair, T'Pol said, "I have a new theory about the nature of the cloud." At Archer's glance for her to continue, she said, "I have finished analyzing the scans with the upgraded sensors, and there is nothing at the cloud's center. I believe the cloud itself is some form of vehicle."

"Is that possible?" Archer asked.

"In addition," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "because of the unknown chemicals in its composition, as well as our difficulty in scanning it, I don't believe the cloud is really 'here.' It's possible it is an extension projected here, by unknown means, to observe this area of space."

"But for what purpose?" Archer queried.

"Unknown," T'Pol replied. "However, we do know it is harmful to us. Whether that is intentional or not also is not known."

"And we don't have time to figure out a way to communicate with it," Archer said, "to tell us contact with it is harmful to us."

"Even if we accomplished that, it may be that whatever intelligence is responsible for the cloud's presence here will not be swayed by that argument. We do not have time to pursue the option of opening communication with it, in any case."

If Archer had any doubts about what to do, they were overridden by his normally pacifistic first officer's subtle recommendation to take decisive action. She hadn't said it in so many words, but her belief that the cloud posed a dangerous threat was coming through loud and clear. And she'd come up with a way to neutralize the threat.

"The cloud has increased speed to warp 2.4," Mayweather reported.

"Match that speed," Archer ordered. He pushed a button on the comm panel on the command chair's armrest. "Archer to the armory. Report."

"We're loading the last torpedo in the tube now," responded Reed, causing T'Pol to look sharply at Archer in concern.

"He's getting his memory back," Archer told her. "Besides, Trip's with him. He won't let him blow up the ship."

"We're ready," came Reed's voice.

Leaning closer to the comm panel, Archer asked, "You remember how to fire those things, Mister Reed?"

"Yes, sir, I believe I do."

"Then fire at will."

"My pleasure, sir," acknowledged Reed, an unmistakable air of satisfaction in his voice.

The connection was cut at the armory's end. Archer kept his gaze on the viewscreen, as did everyone else on the bridge except T'Pol, who moved to her console and activated several exterior scanners. In a few moments, twin streaks could be seen heading from _Enterprise_ toward the particle cloud. The torpedoes entered the cloud, and when they were almost at dead center, two small explosions blossomed. The cloud's forward movement immediately slowed, then stopped.

"All stop, Mr. Mayweather," Archer ordered.

He held his breath as he stared intently at the cloud. He couldn't see that the torpedoes had had any effect, other than to halt the cloud's pursuit of them. Maybe it took time for the inhibitor to work, he thought hopefully.

Her eyes against the pop-up scanner at her station, T'Pol said, "There is a disturbance along the outer edges of the cloud."

Archer didn't see anything happening to the cloud. He tapped the armrest of his chair impatiently.

Then Mayweather said, "It's getting smaller!"

As Archer watched, the cloud seemed to pull in on itself. Slowly at first, then faster, it shrank, smaller and smaller. T'Pol reported another fluctuation, and Archer could have sworn he saw a black shadow streak toward what was left of the cloud. A few moments later, the cloud disappeared.

"There is no trace of the cloud," T'Pol reported, lifting her head from the scanner.

Archer exhaled noisily. "Did we...kill it?"

"I am not certain, but I do not believe that is the case," she said. "I will need to analyze the data before I can say for sure, but there is the possibility it was transported somewhere else. The scanners registered energy consistent with transporter usage, although much more powerful than what we are familiar with, just before the cloud disappeared."

* * *

Reed lay on his bunk, hands behind his head, taking a short break before unpacking the next box from his locker. Phlox had told him to rest frequently over the next few days as his memory continued to return. Rest was conducive to recall, the doctor had said, although Reed had his doubts. Lying around didn't seem to do a thing for his memory, while most every item he'd pulled from the first box had triggered a memory. He'd taken his time, savoring each bit he could recall.

For the moment, he was puzzling over something that had occurred to him when Phlox had told him that he would be able to return to active duty when his full memory came back. How would he know he remembered everything? 

Phlox seemed to think his memory loss hadn't been caused by whatever the aliens had done to him, but by the resulting mental stress of being held captive and subsequently escaping. It was the mind's way of dealing with a traumatic situation, and Phlox hadn't been able to tell him if he'd recall everything that had been done to him. One piece of it had come back while he and the captain and Sato had been hunting the shapeless black thing through the ship's corridors: his torture had been incredibly painful. Through it all, he'd gotten an overwhelming sense of purpose from the aliens, but what that purpose was, other than to pick apart _Enterprise_ and the people on board, he never had discovered. The only thing he was certain of was that the aliens weren't concerned with how much pain he was in, but how much they could learn, even if it meant killing him. That realization had convinced him to try to escape. He had feigned unconsciousness, struggled out of his restraints, and made his way to the slightly raised disk on the floor--a kind of transport pad. He had triggered his own return trip to _Enterprise._ One thing he couldn't recall was the appearance of his captors. The bright lights had blinded him; they were shadows to him, but unlike the shadows on _Enterprise,_ there was substance behind the shadows.

They still didn't know what that cloud was, either. An incursion into this area of space by a previously unknown species? Wandering alien scientists performing experiments? They might never know. T'Pol had offered a hypothesis that the aliens had used a transporter of some type to remove themselves from this area, once they realized _Enterprise_ could fight back. He vehemently hoped they never came back.

Sato had thought that the creatures were trying to communicate with them, and with her specifically. She had theorized that the images she'd seen in her dream state--a blackness inside her, expressing itself through her mouth; a PADD that kept moving around but that contained no messages, either in her dream world or in the real world--were symbols of an attempt to communicate. Similarly, if one took looked at the incident by the airlock symbolically, Reed mused, then perhaps the alien shadow creature wasn't trying to lure them to their deaths, but to gain an opening for incursion--perhaps a literal incursion, the shadow made manifest, the aliens on board _Enterprise,_ a foothold into their universe.

Enough brooding, he chided himself. He got to his feet, intending to start on the next box, when the door chime rang. "Enter," he called.

The door slid open to reveal Tucker. "Hey! You're finally unpacking."

"I can't believe I let this go for so long," Reed said ruefully, unsealing the box as Tucker stepped in the cabin.

"Well, I remember one time you thought about doing it, but then you changed your mind," Tucker said as he took a seat on the bunk. "You didn't want a little Klingon kid messing with your stuff."

"I still don't remember that."

"You don't? Or you don't want to?"

The first item in the box was a hideously loud shirt with a pattern of palm trees. With a grin, Reed remembered that he'd swiped it from Tucker's quarters simply so he wouldn't have to see the engineer wear it. Really, the man had atrocious taste in clothing. He wadded up the shirt and tossed it at Tucker. The surprised look on his face jolted another memory in Reed.

"Everything's coming back to me," Reed said, "including that time you almost became a mother."


End file.
